


Pipe Tradition

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drug Use, Feelings, Humor, M/M, Millicent is only mentioned, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, SoftKyluxKinks, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fill for a prompt on the softkyluxkinks blog.  Anon's prompt: "Inspired by ondolindiel's amazing gif edit. After the battle on Crait, Kylo invites Hux to his quarters to discuss the future of the Order. When Hux arrives Kylo tells him he realizes if they don't find a way to work together they'll eventually end up killing each other he's seen it in the Force and it's pretty obvious. He wants Hux to participate in the ancient Jedi ritual of getting high with your enemy in order to find a compromise. It works even better than either of them expects..."





	Pipe Tradition

The floor here, like on the rest of the restored and recommissioned Supremacy, is too hard and polished to sit on. There’s a stylish runner between the bed and the wall–grey, mat-like, where Kylo sinks to his knees. Hux inclines is chin a little and snorts, almost imperceptibly. "Are we sitting on the floor, then?“ he asks. Displeasure is evident. 

“No. Sit on the bed,” Kylo orders. There aren’t any other chairs in the room, so Hux obeys. He can be practical. If a tall, broad, powerhouse of a dark Force-user doesn’t want to keep chairs in his quarters, then certainly, it is practical to sit on the bed. This is particularly true where said Force-user has tapped into his wizardry, elbowed his way into co-command of your militia, and _oh yes_ , foretold your death with a reliable prescience. 

“You’re certain this is the only way to prevent us murdering one another?” Hux inquires.

“Yes.” Kylo is rooting around under the bed searching for something. He first withdraws a small, cloth bag, then a crystalline looking water pipe. Hux raises one brow, watching Kylo carefully unglove his hand and untie the bag. The substance is some variant of spice, Hux is certain. It almost resembles food: brown with blue flecks, clumpy but dry. The General has never dabbled in spice, himself, but he’s no shut-in. He knows his way around, a little.

“If you’re too proud to ask what's in it, you don’t know enough,” Kylo snipes. 

Hux is taken aback. "Are you reading my thoughts?“

"No,” Kylo answers. He could be lying. He’s never supplied a precise outline of what he’s capable of. It had been downright open and conversational of him to call a meeting after Crait, to reveal what he’d seen in the Force, and to recommend this solution. "It’s an ancient euphoriant used by the Jedi. Spice is involved, but the production calls for, among other things, Rokna fungus and powdered Kyber crystal.“ He recites like a student, showing off the lesson he has memorized.

"Sound like a special blend,” Hux muses, disdainfully. He doesn’t ask “is it going to kill me?" There would be easier ways to accomplish that. Besides, they’ve been through a lot, at this point, and most of it was cordial, even cooperative. It was tense, at times, as war could be, and certainly Hux would prefer to do this alone. He’s been tempted. He’s even caught himself plotting, in moments of weakness. But that’s just it: in the long run, they need one another. Hux agrees with Kylo’s assessment, mystically derived as it may be. They need to find a way towards compromise–for the strength of the Order, if nothing else.

Hux folds himself primly onto the end of Kylo’s bed. He suspects the new "Supreme Leader” would only poison him out of madness or by accident. Kylo is neither negligent nor manic as he cuts, grinds, and mixes the material. He’s calm. There’s something impressive–almost intimidating–about his concentration. "Take off your shoes,“ he instructs.

"Why?” Hux asks. "Will the drug make my feet sweat?“

"No. I just need you to relax.” Kylo stands, lifting the pipe off the floor. He disappears into the ‘fresher. Hux hears water running. He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his uniform belt. When Kylo comes back in, he hesitates, eyes lingering on the unclasped leather.

“Good,” Kylo says, averting his eyes. Words leave his mouth in a rush. "Let’s get started, then.“

"Wait,” Hux interjects. "We should set some parameters. Before we begin.“

"Such as?”

“Well, if we’re going to be intoxicated,” Hux notes, “we won’t be ourselves. Decision-wise.”

“That’s the point,” Kylo says. "We’re trying this to get somewhere we wouldn’t go. You said you’d be comfortable with it.“

Hux considers. He thinks of the stories he’s heard of spice: sexual escapades, mostly, but sometimes theft or risk-taking. None of this scares him, exactly, but neither does it seems like it’d endear him to the concept of Kylo Ren as Supreme Leader. Strategically, it makes sense to try something desperate to avoid their mutual murdering each other. Tactically, Hux has some concerns. "Let me post a droid outside the door. I don’t want us wandering around the ship.” Kylo nods, and it’s done. 

The first hit is sharp and hot. It boils in Hux’s mouth, slides into his lungs and senses. He looks down at the reflective floor and sees light splinter into daggers. It’s only mildly alarming. _Daggers are best kept where you can see them,_ Hux thinks. He becomes aware that Kylo is staring at him. 

“Is it working, then? Are we still enemies?” Hux asks, after his second helping. The affects of this are instantaneous, but subtle. Hux’s tolerance has always been high, which is convenient as, never seeing the point, he has generally refused to become intoxicated. A glass of whiskey is a relief after work but not enough to dispense with his guard. This is… more than that, and in a different direction. It’s not unpleasant.

“I need to take this off,” Kylo announces. Suddenly, he’s wearing no shirt. Hux feels himself inflame red despite the fact that he’s seen many an officer in a state of undress. Then the inflammation grows, and he’s hot all over; burning, blistering with sensation. It’s not totally overwhelming. He doesn’t feel the need, for example, to rip of his clothing–a mild interest in that, yes, but he’s still in control. 

He relishes a sense of smug superiority over Kylo. "I don’t feel anything,“ he declares.

"Do you ever?”

Hux knows it’s a jab but he considers the question with seriousness. "Yes, of course,“ he replies. "You know I do. I feel excitement when we win. I feel hate for the New Republic. I feel love for my cat–”

“You have a cat?” Kylo takes a third drag of the spice. Hux watches, transfixed, and Kylo breaks into a huge grin. "Hux? You have a cat?“

"Yes,” Hux responds. This time. Kylo won’t stop smiling. It’s contagious. "Millicent. She’s a treasure. I’m surprised the Force didn’t tell you about that.“

Kylo laughs. Genuinely. "I don’t go looking in the Force for peoples’ cats.” A long pause, then something else occurs to him. "Your uniform is always pristine. No cat hair.“

"Of course not,” Hux spouts, affronted. "I take care of it.“ Then Kylo makes those eyes at him. That quiet, sober stare. _He’s so intense,_ Hux thinks, and he’s missed what Kylo said– "what?”

“I said, ‘you can take it off, if you want to.’” It takes Hux a moment to realize he means the uniform.

“Was this whole thing a ploy to seduce me?” The General’s voice is louder than he meant to be, and less indignant.

Kylo shrinks, his grin fading. "No, I–did you intend to be seduced?“ He sways a little, frowning. "I just meant–if you’re comfortable–”

“I’m completely comfortable,” Hux slurs. "Poised to rule the galaxy!“

The smile is back. Hux realizes he’s never seen the man smile this much, before today. "We do have to do that, don’t we?”

Hux collects himself. "We do. And to accomplish that, we're going to have to trust each other."

"I don't know what that means," Kylo says. His eyes are glassy, pupils dilated. Even so, Hux is certain that it is not the drug which has impeded Kylo's understanding of trust. There would be glee in witnessing this kind of vulnerability, Hux thinks, if I weren't in the same position. This will be like an ewok explaining an ion drive, he thinks, and does his best. 

"It means--" Hux struggles not to condescend. "It means we make a pact not to hurt each other. Which neither of us violates." 

"I don't know how." He hits the spice again and offers it to Hux. "Kill it, if you want," he offers. On one level, Hux feels he should decline--but he won't be outdone. The substance is nearly spent, anyway. 

The bold conclusion of the drug leaves Hux feeling dizzy. He's not entirely inside himself. "Well," he stammers. He continues slowly. There's a long, deep breath, and then: "We have to tell each other the truth, and listen to each others' ideas. Respectfully."

"We already do that," Kylo insists. "Your ideas are stupid." He slides off the bad, back onto the floor. He lays down. "All ideas are stupid."

Normally, this would not invite laughter, so much as frustration and rage. Somehow, though, Hux hears himself giggle. There's a glitch in time or space--a petite daydream--and when he returns to attention, Kylo is back on the bed. They've both stripped down to their underthings.

Hux is trying to get his bearings but Kylo is talking rapidly. "I don't believe you could not hurt me," he says, with an uncalled for passion. "People fight. That's what they do. They judge, abandon. They try to murder you in your sleep."

"I won't," Hux insists. Privately, he thinks: _anymore._

Kylo is talking over him. "No one wants me. No one KNOWS me. It hurts when people don't want me on their side, don't ... trust me," he says. A too-large hand reaches out and runs fingers through Hux's hair.

"Stop it," he says. "I believe in you. In the Order, I mean. You're the ... Supreme Leader of the Order." He manages the title with something like reverence, and there's a long silence. Hux is uncomfortable. He hadn't factored this into his risk evaluation: sex, yes, but not this level of ... encouragement. Support. Intimacy. It makes him nauseous. He looks at Kylo, who he has never once felt compassion for--even when he tried. This is different. Kylo's skin is luminescent and pulsing. Hux can see the life in him--it looks like blood and ocean, rolling infinitely and tirelessly. _I'm hallucinating,_ he thinks. Out loud he says, "your skin." His voice is nearly a whisper. It reverberates like a drum.

Hux discovers that he is the ocean, too, and he can roll into waves, just as Kylo does. They flow into each other. It's less like water and more like current: brighter, more dazzling. It's raw power, flowing, drowning, and suddenly Hux sees the Jedi Ancients in his mind, robed and somber. Then they're there in the room. All around. Nodding, whispering. Kylo is next to him, solid once more, with deep dark pools in his eyes.

"I killed him," he says.

"I know," Hux hears himself answer.

"The girl left anyway," he says.

"I won't leave," Hux says. He feels the appropriate thing to do at this dramatic juncture is to touch the muscles in Kylo's arms. Pale hands travel over broad shoulders and swollen biceps. Kylo is warm and material and strong. " _Fuck_ , your pecs," Hux mutters, groping. None of this prepares him for what comes next--which is a kiss, and tongue, and more touching. Fingers test the closeness of his shave, then wander down through the orange hairs on his belly. 

 

Hux wakes the next day in Kylo's quarters. He can remember... most of it. They are both nude, which is unsurprising, and there's a piece of paper stuck to Kylo's face. It seems to be a cross between a rudimentary weapons design, some sort of map, and a series of lewd drawings. The word "grass" is written in Kylo's handwriting. The crystal pipe lays in a puddle of water on the floor.

It takes a long time for Kylo to wake up. Hux stays and waits. He promised not to leave--in a more permanent sense, he figures, but this is just as important. When Kylo's eyes open, he's unprepared. It doesn't matter. Kylo, as ever, speaks his mind. "I should meet your cat."

"We should debrief the teams that surveyed Crait," Hux counters. But he catches himself. "There's time to do both," he adds.


End file.
